


one last time

by proudlygoingnowhere



Category: Sing Street (2016)
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, M/M, Sing Street - Freeform, rabbits?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 06:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11285376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proudlygoingnowhere/pseuds/proudlygoingnowhere
Summary: Eamon is diagnosed with a terminal illness and Conor goes to visit him at the hospital one last time.





	one last time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [windupkatya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/windupkatya/gifts).



> new (long-ish) oneshot, enjoy!
> 
> based off the song "one last time" by jaymes young.

Conor sat in a dark green plastic chair, a bouquet of white roses in one hand and a small plush rabbit toy in the other. He watched as nurses and doctors and patients hurried by, absorbed in their own personal struggles. Conor tried to focus his mind on something positive, but not a single thing worked to remove the excruciating thoughts that haunted his brain. No one else in the room could possibly be going through the same amount of suffering that he was going through, and none of them mattered nearly as much as the boy in the room a mere fifty feet from where Conor sat, trembling, in the Beacon Hospital waiting room.

Suddenly, without any warning, Conor doubled over in grief as his mind flashed back to that horrific night three weeks ago, the night that changed his life forever. 

As hard as he tried, nothing Conor did nowadays could push out the memory of his beloved Eamon suddenly collapsing to the floor in the middle of a late-night songwriting session. Nothing could drive away the piercing wail of the siren that screamed outside the house after Conor had frantically called an ambulance. Nothing could obstruct the pain that he experienced as he watched his best friend, barely conscious, get carried off into the vehicle and rushed to the nearest hospital. 

However, all of the above was so miniscule and unjarring compared to the gut-lurching emotions that swept through Conor like a tidal wave when he found out that Eamon was dying.

Eamon, with the fluffy brown mullet and aviator-style glasses that could never seem to stay on the bridge of his nose. Eamon, with a killer fashion sense and stunning, grey-blue eyes that complimented every piece of clothing he ever wore. 

Eamon, Mr. Rabbit Boy who seldom had a smile on his face, but when he did he was the most beautiful person Conor had ever seen and seemed to put all of the stars in the sky to shame. Eamon, whose talents did not include being able to ride a two-wheel bike but  _ did _ include being the most musically-inclined teenager in all of Dublin. Eamon, who gave Conor his “Always” and helped him to break out of his shell and gain a new level of confidence. 

Eamon, who was unbeknownst to Conor’s true feelings towards him, for Conor was too scared to reveal them in crippling fear of rejection. 

Conor had only known Eamon for less than a year, but in that time they had grown closer than he could have ever imagined. So close, in fact, that he was convinced that nothing would ever be able to tear them apart.

And now it was absolute torture for him to know that he was wrong. So,  _ so  _ utterly wrong.  

_ Nothing lasts forever you idiot _ , Conor thought to himself angrily, feeling the tears building up behind his eyelids.  _ Why’d you even think that you -  _

“Conor?”

_ You’re a selfish asshole if you thought that you could ever - _

“Conor Lawlor?”

Conor’s head shot up at the sound of his full name, the negative thoughts suddenly coming to a halt. His eyes wandered to a young nurse who was patiently waiting in the doorway of the waiting room, calling him over. 

“Y-yes,” Conor replied, his whole body shaking. “That’s me.”

The nurse fixed her gaze upon the flowers in his fist, and then onto his face. “Your friend,” she said. “He’s ready to see you now.”

 

_________________

 

The hospital room was more drab and lonely-looking than Conor had expected. To be fair, Conor didn’t exactly know what he’d been expecting anyway, but it surely wasn’t this. There were no cards, no balloons, no tokens of appreciation anywhere in the entire space. The dim yellow light bounced off of the beige-colored walls, reminding Conor of a dark basement storage room. The one window in the room was a small glass panel on the far wall, flanked by a set of curtains that looked as if they hadn’t been washed in weeks. The only mildly interesting thing in the room was the television on the wall opposite where the hospital bed was positioned, and in that bed was none other than Eamon himself. 

“Well, look who it is,” Eamon greeted Conor, a rare smile breaking out onto his face. He was unusually cheery despite being hooked up to a whole ton of machinery in an absolutely dismal living environment. “If it isn’t Mr. Riddle-of-the-Model himself.”

Conor chuckled, glad that the visit was starting off on a light note. “You still using that nickname for me now, are you?” he asked.

“Of course,” Eamon replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, which made Conor laugh. “It’s been years and years and  _ years _ , I can’t possibly quit now.”

“Whatever you say, Rabbit Boy,” Conor teased. “Oh, and speaking of rabbits…” He reached behind him, pulled out the plush rabbit, and carefully placed it in Eamon’s hands. “Thought you could use some company while you’re here, so I brought you a friend.”

Eamon’s face lit up as soon as he claimed the soft toy. He gently stroked the dark brown fur and admired the beady black eyes. “It looks just like Caoimhe,” he noted, referring to one of the many rabbits that he owned. 

“I know, that’s why I got her. Isn’t she lovely?” Conor replied. “I also got you some flowers-” he held them up to eye level “-but they’re sort of wilting now. I swear they weren’t when I bought them,” he added quickly. 

Eamon grinned. “It’s totally fine, just put ‘em on my bedside table and I’ll have a nurse put them in a vase later.”

The boys spent the next hour and a half catching up on each other’s lives, chatting and laughing until their sides were sore. Naturally, Eamon hadn’t been up to much since he was trapped at the hospital, but he listened intently as Conor told him stories of school and the band and everything in between. Conor noticed that as he was talking, Eamon was smiling a whole lot more than he normally did. Of course, Conor wasn’t one to complain; he absolutely couldn’t get enough of Eamon when he showed signs of joy. But the last time he’d seen Eamon this upbeat was after their gig at their school’s end-of-term disco, which was over a month ago. Conor tried not to dwell on it too much, but every few minutes the thought prodded his brain, demanding an explanation. 

Before he knew it, the young nurse came back to give Conor a five-minute warning. Panic shot through Conor’s bloodstream, and he could hardly believe that the visit was almost over. There was so much he wanted to tell his best friend but not nearly enough time. 

“Well,” Eamon said quietly, the cheerfulness promptly draining from his system. “I… I guess this is it.” He gazed mournfully out the window at the dark grey sky.

Conor nodded slowly. He wasn’t sure if he was going into shock, or if it was something else, but his skin felt cold and numb, and he could sense all of his remaining energy deteriorating. He tried to speak, but the words got caught in his throat and he could do nothing more than continue to nod. His stomach churned as he was painfully reminded that this was the last time he would ever see Eamon alive, and that these last few minutes was the beginning of the end of everything between them. After today, all of it would come crashing down at once, shattering Conor’s heart and sparing nothing but his sorrow. 

So many questions buzzed in Conor’s mind, but the one that he finally managed to blurt out was not the one he’d expected: 

“Are you afraid?”

Eamon bit his lip and looked down at his hands. “ ‘Course I am,” he said, just loud enough for Conor to hear. “I mean, I could’ve experienced so much more if I had more time. People to meet, things to accomplish, a whole new chapter of my life to live. I could be writing more music, or even caring for a family, I suppose.” He offered a weak smile, but it vanished from his face almost instantly. “I wanted to finish secondary school more than anything, Conor. I wanted to go to college and get a music degree. I wanted to travel to all these exotic cities and important places around the world. There were so many things that I wanted to do so badly, and so many opportunities that were practically dangling at my fingertips, just waiting for me to take them.

“But a terminal illness kills off your dreams in an instant, and then you realize that none of that stuff is possible anymore. Like… today I’m obviously awake and moving and breathing, but in a week I’ll most likely be gone. I’ll be a mere memory to everyone I’ve left behind. It’s all moving so fast, Conor, way too fast for me… and there’s not a bloody thing anybody can do to slow it down.” By now, Eamon’s eyes were brimming with tears, and Conor wanted nothing more than to wrap him in a giant hug and never let go. 

So he did.

On contact, all of the tears that Eamon was trying to suppress completely let loose, soaking Conor’s hands and shirt and the bedspread on his lap. But Conor didn’t pull away, instead he tightened his embrace and buried his face in his best friend’s hair. Eamon smelled of cinnamon and firewood and parchment, everything that reminded Conor of him, and it pained Conor more than anything in the world to know that it would all slip away within a matter of days. 

There would be no more late-night songwriting sessions. No more bike rides to the park. No more afternoons staring up at the ceiling, a record spinning and music filling up the room. Everything they did together would be stained with the memory of the Rabbit Boy who had walked into Conor’s life and changed it forever. Only ghosts would remain, hidden in broken-down  déjà vu and every single chord that echoed from Conor’s guitar. 

Before he knew it, Conor found himself crying as well, his heart swelling and shattering all at once.

When the dreaded time came for Conor to depart, everything seemed to move in slow motion. One moment he was sitting on the hospital bed, the next he was being scolded out of the room by two nurses who had come in to check up on Eamon. If learning about Eamon’s terminal illness was beyond horrifying, having to say goodbye to his best friend for the final time was completely indescribable for Conor. He had not yet told Eamon that he’d fancied him ever since they’d first met, and their remaining moments together were passing all too quickly. It was now or forever hold his peace. 

Conor promptly turned on his heel and marched back to the bed, adrenaline rushing through his system. Oblivious to everyone else in the room, he gently cupped Eamon’s face in his hands and kissed him. It was only for a second, but in that second Conor felt everything he’d ever known sigh from his lips and disappear into thin air. 

When they broke apart, Conor stared straight into Eamon’s eyes, and for the very first time, he sensed something between them that he had never experienced before. He had barely enough time to put a name to the feeling when he was ushered out of the room by one of the nurses who had been impatiently waiting for him to leave. Conor just managed to utter an audible “I love you” before he stumbled out of the room and into the hallway. 

Then the door slammed shut behind him, instituting a permanent barrier between unreachable dreams and torturous reality. 

Grief-stricken, Conor sprinted through the hospital main doors and down the dimly-lit street, not slowing down for miles. He paid no attention to where his feet took him - after all, it didn’t matter since the only place in the world that he truly wanted to be was with Eamon. Eventually, a searing pain drove straight through his side and he was forced to slow to a stop. He knelt on the edge of the curb, his head pounding and his waist undergoing unbearable pain. 

The events of the past hour flitted through his brain like a film reel on fast-forward, making Conor panic. There was nothing he could do to calm himself as his lungs struggled for air and the world around him spun at an uncontrollable rate, reeling him into the darkness until his vision faded to black.

 

 

_________________

 

A week-and-a-half later, Conor found himself in a suit and bowtie, cowering in the corner of a reception hall and avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room. As much as he was against showing his face at Eamon’s funeral, his parents were insistent, and a long argument with his mother ultimately persuaded him to go. Conor knew that he was being respectful by attending, but his friendship with Eamon was something that no one else could understand or replace. He needed his own time and space to mourn, and going to a public event allowed no such things. Furthermore, attending a funeral meant being cornered by strangers who offered their various words of condolences, but none of which could never do his relationship with Eamon justice. Conor couldn’t even muster up the courage to visit Eamon’s casket, as seeing it was bound to trigger something negative in his mind that would stay there for days. 

The funeral wrapped up just as a light afternoon rainfall began. As his parents finished the last of their conversations, Conor stood next to a stained glass window and watched as rainwater rolled down the glass and out of sight, mirroring the tears that were streaming down his face. This was the end of the end, and there was nothing left in the world for him. Absolutely nothing.

“Hey, Conor?”

He whipped around to see Eamon’s mother standing behind him, her eyes red from crying and her makeup a mess. Conor could see nearly every physical feature of Eamon in her appearance - from the thick brown hair to the sun-kissed skin tone and droopy blue eyes. He opened his mouth to respond, when suddenly she drew her hands from behind her back. In one hand was a crisp white envelope - in the other, the rabbit toy that Conor had given to Eamon during his final visit.

“Eamon wanted me to give you these,” she said in a hushed voice. When she noticed Conor staring at the rabbit, she added, “I know you gave it to him, but he wanted to give it back as a way to remember him by. He was very fond of you, y’know.”

This was news to Conor, and he adjusted his posture, wanting to learn more. “Really?”

“Of course, he talked about you all the time,” Eamon’s mother explained. “Almost every single day. Didn’t talk about anybody else nearly half as often as he did about you, and you know what, I think he actually fancied you.” 

Conor sucked in his breath and silently cursed himself for not making the first move sooner. “Oh.”

“Anyway… these are yours now,” Eamon’s mother said. She placed the gifts in Conor’s hands and walked off without another word.

_________________

 

When Conor got home, he threw off his suit jacket and made a beeline for his bedroom. He locked his door and sat down on the bed, staring at the items that were still in his clutches. After a few minutes of sitting in absolute silence, he positioned the stuffed rabbit on his pillow and retrieved his letter opener. His fingers trembled as he diligently cut open the envelope and pulled out what looked like a page torn from Eamon’s songwriting notebook. 

Conor unfolded the paper and stared at the lyrics written all across and in the margins. Some were a few words, others several stanzas, but every single character was scrawled in Eamon’s distinct handwriting, the black ink crowding almost every available space on the page. Conor’s eyes shifted to the middle of the paper, which had the least amount of writing, and that was when he noticed the little message carefully printed in royal blue ink. As he read the message his heart skipped a beat, and for the first time since Eamon passed away he found the slightest bit of solace crawl back into his life.

The message was brief, but to Conor it was the most meaningful thing he’d ever received, just four words long.

 

_ I love you too _ .

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for stopping by :) if you have any questions about this fanfic or any of my other works, you can find me on instagram @peculiarenderpearl or on twitter @P3culiarPearl.
> 
> <3


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